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Belinus Dobhriste Ceol II
Formative Years In March of the year 990, a boy was born to family of power, prestige, and accursed demise in the estates just outside of Arkrest. That boy was Belinus Ceol II. In his earliest years, Belinus II was raised by a kind, but powerfully influential father and a mother who, before meeting Belinus I, was a Gypsy and traveler. Belinus I was at the seat of power amongst the Patrician’s collective, one of the many guilds that vie for power in Arkrest. Known by many to be a stark businessman and philanthropist, Belinus I was able to raise his son in the luxury and splendor that comes with his amassed wealth and power. He had invested heavily into the patriarchy of the region as well as spread his wealth into the slave trade, textile imports, and salt trading. Belinus II was raised amongst the posh and wealth of Arkrest. His formative training included many areas such as philosophy, higher education, art, music, and cooking. He took to the intellectual arts much more so than the physical ones as a child, however, reducing combat training to miniscule amounts of fencing and play fighting with his friends. Every six years, the Patrician’s collective had been named “Master Guild” come election time. This kept Belinus I in power and the ability to amass more wealth as time had passed. The Ceol family surely was one of great influence in the area…but it seemed as though this notoriety and lead to their dismay. One cold autumn evening in the year 1008 met the end of an era of power and changed everything for young Belinus I. The Ceol estate felt the unnerving steel of unwanted visitors that night – hired black blades that swept through the grounds of their private estate like corporeal phantoms. Unnoticed. Unannounced. Without mercy. Belinus I was up late in his study signing trade documents by the flicker of a soft candle when he felt something…was wrong. Brandishing a nearby longsword he took to the main hallway in the darkness. There was no warning, no time to even notice the nervous bead of sweat from his brow before the chilling steel of a hired assassin was ran through him. The death throes of his beloved father awoke both Belinus II and his mother, who rose from their chambers and began to shout for each other in the darkened estate. As he sprinted through the chilled, dark hallways he felt a weightlessness wash over him… …everything went black that night. When Belinus came to he was shackled, naked, and groggy. Looking at his surroundings he made note of the disparaged men also naked and shackled before him. Each set with a differing fear upon their countenance. His utter confusion lodged a stone in his throat as his mind wracked for answers on where, or what, had happened to him. The wooden structure they were all encased in was bumping and turning – the sound of horseshoes clacked against cobbled road. The iron clasps in which he was bound were rusted and itched against his bare wrists. He felt a panged ache deep in his stomach and noticed the wound that must have been created by a dart or some other kind of projectile. He had but one realization. “I’m…a slave…” Slavery and Freedom 3 long, grueling years passed in forced labor camps. He was assaulted, abused, and emotionally destroyed. Toiling day in and day out in remedial farming labor that befit those whom his father had, in the past, so readily sold to others. Truly, an ironic consequence of a boy robbed of his former glory. The only solace in this time was a man from the east, who went by the name Kh’azir. An imposing man with blackened eyes and an aura of selflessness; they formed a quiet, but powerful bond in this trying time. Once a week they were able to slip out of the slaves’ quarters for a short amount of time when the slavers would celebrate their avarice through drink and song. Kh’azir would teach Belinus how to fight with nothing more than heavy, blunted sticks. There were times the duo were caught and subsequently beaten within inches of their life – but they would recover, and try again whence healthy. It was at the end of the third year that they had begun to formulate how to escape together. During the time of their weekly rendezvous, they attempted to slowly construct two primitive bows and associated arrows in order to assassinate two of the slavers of similar size, steal their weapons, and sneak out at night. Belinus was no engineer, but Kh’azir was a man of ample thought whom was able to stitch the weaponry together. The plan worked…but at a cost. Kh’azir ultimately sacrificed himself as a distraction when the rest of the slavers had noticed two of their own missing. Drunk and angry they did not take kindly to their attempted escape – Belinus’ last memory of his only friend was looking back one last time to see the bloodied pulp of his face lying down on the ground, one boot upon the back of his neck. With a crippled hand outstretched and piercing eyes, Belinus saw the words mouthed “Just run.” Belinus fled from the camp undetected. With little direction and little hope, he wandered the woods of the surrounding area for weeks. Malnourished and dehydrated, Belinus wearily forged forward. He was not accustomed to the woods and survival – this was nothing he had ever needed to learn as a child. One night, as the moon shined full above the canopy that he had almost now called home, he found a spring of water trickling from a bedlam of rocks down into a pool of crystal clear ground. The light reflected into his eyes, almost blinding him with the quintessence of its glow. As he kneeled to drink and replenish his crackled lips, there was the lingering feeling he was not alone. Slowly, leaning his head up, he saw through the fog of his own eyes the glowing figure of a woman in a long, tattered dress. She moved her lips but no sound was produced…the spirit-like apparition pointed west, and from her finger fired a bolt of white laying a breadcrumb trail of light winding through the woods. He blinked…and she disappeared…but the trail stayed lit. He stood, shoulders square and prepared for a journey – it was all he could do to survive. To this day he does not know if they was a hallucination or divine intervention…but something helped him that night, whether it be the gods casting merciful direction or his own subconscious guiding him to salvation. The trail lead to a small village which mended his wounds and helped feed and clothe him. Belinus was able to request travel to Arkrest to revisit his family home Return to Arkrest Belinus, weary from travel and his experiences, yearned for his old home and to find out what happened. He concealed himself when entering the city – lest he be recognized and perhaps attacked. “A lesser man may have accepted his role here…I’m not going to take any chances” He thought as he approached the marbled steps of his father’s estate. The building was decrepit, and obviously ransacked. This was puzzling, because even though the mansion was a bit on the outskirts of the city, there were numerous people on the council and laborers who were in charge with at least tending to the building, even in his Father’s absence. The large wooden doors creaked and shuddered with the decay of time as he swung them open to reveal a house torn into ruins. “This could not have just been a murder…hark, these ruins fortell of something much more devious” This thought pierced his mind as a few careful steps were taken inside. The former glory of their illustrious homestead was nothing more than a memory now – the tattered curtains of their family crest lay strewn across the entrance way covering destroyed furniture and overturned bookshelves. The floor became a quagmire of rainwater soaked floorboards and scattered trash. Kneeling to the golden arch crest set upon a crimson cloth of the Ceol name on a nearby banner, he produced a knife from his pocket and began slashing at what remained before him. With heavy tears coursing down, his mind turned to think: “I will don the crest of my fallen family, so that all will know who hath suffered here. The broken image of the past will be sewn into my every armor so that mine enemies will never forget who it was that befell them on my blade. I swear by the seven that whomever it was that has torn my past apart – shall be summarily torn in twain.” Through the frenzy he found himself in, a distant memory flashed: His father, once in his childhood, had told him of a buried safe in the cellar outside of the house and a key hidden in the floorboard of his old room. Belinus recovered the key, entered the cellar, and found the old rusted safe buried in a corner. In this safe, contained a steel axe, a few satchels of gold, and a note which read: “My beloved wife and son, If you have opened this then I have surely passed. Your Father has made many enemies in all his years of influence. Take up this axe, may it serve you well. The gods smile upon us, take this gold and travel to the Kingdom of Two Onions. There are men who may house you, train you, and begin life anew. It pains me to write this, my dear family…The riches of the few has begat the pockets of the many and your patriarch may not live to see the fruits of his exploits. I may only hope that you have reached this safe whence I am slain or have passed by nefarious means; that you’ve found the strength within yourselves to carry forth. Truly, do not mourn my passing, only become stronger than I ever was to resist the deep temptations that avarice may bring. You must flee and begin training, for, if I have been cut down, they surely may come for you next if you have lived to read this. -Belinus I” Category:Biographies Category:Recruit Category:Journeyman